


Fullmetal Potentials

by Colerate



Series: Colerate's Potentials [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Age Swap, Do-Over, Fix-It, Gen, Plot Bunny, Role Reversal, Roleswap, Time Loop, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2019-10-31 01:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colerate/pseuds/Colerate
Summary: Here lie Colerate's potential ideas and plotlines, FMA EditionChapter One: Time LoopThe next Event involved a very dramatic crash from downstairs as the front door is relieved of its hinges. Al yelps and looks to Ed with fear-stricken eyes because he doesn't have the foreknowledge that the door murderer downstairs is one of the biggest softies for kids Ed knows. He just doesn't show it very well.A muffled "Thank fuck" is heard followed by a crackle of alchemy as Ed presumes the door is fixed. It better be fixed, without any creaking either. The bastard has done it enough times, he's got to be a pro by this point.Chapter Two: Role ReversalWhen Roy is fifteen, he learns something terrible, burns down the house of his dearest friend and does much the same to her back.Mere days later, the Fullmetal Alchemist arrives and, in what could be considered a fit of distasteful nostalgia, takes him under his wing.





	1. Time Loop

**Author's Note:**

> Relationship: None ~~probably something gay if I developed it~~  
>  Tags: time travel, time loop  
> Characters: Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, Roy Mustang, mentions of Hoenheim and suggestions of future involvement
> 
> Concept:  
> Time has been reset over and over again to the moment before Ed and Al commit the ultimate taboo. Sometimes they're aware, sometimes they're not. What's important is that they have not succeeded against Father's plans a single time. Maybe this time will be different.

"Hey... Brother, please speak... You're worrying me" Al said for the umpteenth time in the past hour, voice very much human and completely lacking any tinny quality.

His brother was sat across from him on the bed, very real and fleshy legs crossed with equally real and fleshy elbows propped on his also very real and fleshy knees. His face was childishly rounded, a small bit tanned and held a concerned expression that hadn't lifted since Ed had decided to cut the transmutation short.

Downstairs was a metal tub containing the spendings of his pocket money and produce of his naivety. The components that made up the average human body and quite importantly nothing that accounted for the worth of a human soul. Granted, that sum had proved to be immeasurable even with the years he put into the hypotheticals of human transmutation that one time he got bored, depressive and morbid. Not a great combination of moods.

After an 'awakening' of sorts, he'd found himself in front of a wretchedly familiar array for the nth time and went through the motions of barreling into his brother before he could so much as clap his hands, scuffing the chalk and kicking over the armour in the corner. The last item on that list he'd checked for fun rather than out of necessity. 

Al had been alarmed, he always was, but his face had also betrayed his relief, as it always did. But he expressed no protest when being dragged up the stairs and back into the bedroom so Ed could brood and silently count as the seconds ticked by with some semblance of comfort from the bed sheets. 

Once the shock had subsided though, his brother wasn't so obliging. To be fair, Ed hadn't spoken a word and he was willing to admit that he was generally pretty chatty. A bit obnoxious even. But only a bit! It was warranted, he had wells of accumulated knowledge that only a select group of people could rival under one condition: they also 'awakened'. So pardon him if he acted accordingly and lacked the patience for those who simply just couldn't understand. 

Al was a member of that select group but he rarely seemed to meet the condition. Meanwhile, other less savoury people did, especially a couple of annoying individuals who made it almost every single time. Such as one particular bastard he was waiting on right now. 

"Come oooon..." Al whined and it was not irritating in the slightest because Al's voice was perfectly human in the best way and Ed could never tire of it. It was also why Ed wasn't talking because he wasn't confident in his own voice's ability to not crack because after that it was all just downhill from there. Al didn't need an uncontrollably crying brother right now so this was the alternative. Just give him five more minutes, he'll be fine. 

Five minutes passed and he cried anyway. Like always.

Fortunately, his eyes dried up before the next Event came up and he was able to placate a very distressed Al and explain while also not explain why he decided they shouldn't do human transmutation and that Al was right all along. Al, the little angel, reminded him that he had been completely down for it as of last week but was happy with Ed's decision. Truth, he gave the best hugs.

If his eyes are still a little red-rimmed when the next Event happened, whatever, he'll just kick the bastard if he points it out. 

The next Event involved a very dramatic crash from downstairs as the front door is relieved of its hinges. Al yelps and looks to Ed with fear-stricken eyes because he doesn't have the foreknowledge that the door murderer downstairs is one of the biggest softies for kids Ed knows. He just doesn't show it very well.

A muffled "Thank fuck" is heard followed by a crackle of alchemy as Ed presumes the door is fixed. It better be fixed, without any creaking either. The bastard has done it enough times, he's got to be a pro by this point. 

"Don't worry" Ed said and damn, he almost sounds like a girl his voice is so young. "He's a good guy" 

Al looked confused but more or less placated which is good enough, Ed thinks, so he slips off the bed and heads over to the ajar bedroom door with Al hot on his heels. Al squeaks and well, the bastard does cut an imposing figure in the darkness of their stairwell, all grown up and _tall_. The ambient pattering of the rain outside doesn't help. He can't see Hawkeye though and she's plenty more frightening.

"Stop scaring my little brother, you bastard!" He calls down, prompting the figure to pause for a second. He's told him two things: one, Edward has awakened and two, Alphonse has not. A click and a lit flame later, Roy Mustang's twenty-seven-year-old face is revealed in flickering orange. 

"It's the height, isn't it?" He drawls with a smirk and God why did it have to be _him_ that had awakened and not Al? Screw his military connections, they weren't worth putting up with the idiot attached to them. 

"Fuck off" Ed replied, short and simple. But then Al gasps because " _Brother_ , you _swore_ " which leads to Mustang's smothered giggles and how old is he again? Thirteen? Grow up.

Miraculously, they move on from spiting each other after roughly ten minutes and get themselves sat around the dining table, Mustang lighting the place with a click and Al looking very overwhelmed. Understandably, Ed could remember feeling something similar the few times he'd been the one who'd failed to awaken and Al had to deal with Mustang. Except Ed was a bit more loud-mouthed about the whole thing and Al reprimanded him a fair bit. Not something he stood for but then Mustang had tried only for Al to tell him to shut up and Mustang _did_ so clueless Ed had been satisfied at the time. 

"So we don't have Hawkeye" Ed began with dread seeping heavily into his tone. Hawkeye was brilliant. The world needed more Hawkeyes.

"Unfortunately" Mustang agreed and the pitter-pattering rain outside only made the realisation even more sombre. It was clear both Ed and Mustang shared little hope for this round. 

"Um, what's going on?" Al finally asked. Not two seconds later, Ed launched himself from his seat while Mustang launched himself across the table to grab at Ed who, despite Mustang's reach, dodged out of his grasp by a hair's breadth and announced that he'd done the explaining last time so it was his turn to start the prepping. Mustang cursed him out but conceded, partly because Ed was already headed down to the basement. 

Tentatively, Ed clapped his hands once he'd opened the basement's door and placed his them onto the floor. Predictably, a flash of blue light jumped from the contact and the chalk array disintegrated as though it had never been there in the first place. Once a sinner, always a sinner. But he always held onto that irrational hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd get a truly fresh start. 

Prepping involved removing any evidence of human transmutation from the home and raiding his father's study of anything that could either be used to write on or write with. An added bonus was that he didn't have the gruelling job of explaining to whoever was out of the loop that this wasn't the first time this had all happened. Ed shrugged off the task whenever possible because not only did you run the risk of completely blotching it and coming off as crazy, you had to deal with the emotions of the other party. Sure, he loved his brother to bits, but dealing with the emotions that came with realising that the world was ending and Edward wasn't the same Edward he'd grown up with added years to his life. When the prepping was done, he'd be there to hug the shit out of him.

So that's what he did when he returned upstairs with blank journals, piles of parchment and every kind of writing utensil known to man (Hohenheim was a hoarder, but he'll protest and call himself a collector when confronted about it which Ed will make sure to do). "I still love you and you're still my brother," Ed said, rubbing comforting circles on his back. "And it's better this way, hugging a suit of armour just isn't the same"

"I love you too" Al replied and Ed let go a small sigh.

The scratching of a fountain pen drew his attention and he looked up to see Mustang writing up a checklist of names. The pen was a sleek black with a red jewelled end and he'd later inscribe his name in curly gold script along the barrel, as he did every time. Ed wasn't even mad, just a bastard stealing from another bastard. Fair play.

If he was honest with himself, he didn't hate Mustang anywhere near as much as he put on. But he wasn't honest so bastard it was. 

Al yawned which reminded Ed that his younger self had picked a God awful hour to practice illegal alchemy so he took his little brother up and joined him to sleep, trusting Mustang to get as much as he could sorted before Event Number Two.

_-_-_

He woke up to the smell of sausages and when he groggily made his way down he found Mustang securing himself in Al's good graces by making shapes with his flames. With the sunlight filtering through the windows, merrily crackling fireplace and Al's giggling, it was easy to slip into the mindset that everything was okay. Good, even.

But no, Ed had lived too long and knew otherwise. So did Mustang. But he could forgive him for making breakfast a cheery affair since Even Number Two had yet to arrive.

Event Number Two, Ed reminded himself as he settled down at the table, could be one of three things. Well, technically, it could be more than one but still. There were three possible people who could have awakened and if none of them turned up within the week, they'd be off. 

Looking over at Al happily chewing as though last night hadn't happened at all, he really hoped at least one of them turned up. He also hoped it was Granny who decided to show but the chances of that were slim to begin with because he could count the number of times that had happened on his now flesh and blood hands and still have fingers to spare. She also would have probably made it over by now. 

Mustang had sat across from him and Al and was writing in a black leather bound journal while he absentmindedly twiddled a fork in his other hand. With a glance at the clock, he flipped over to the back of the book where he'd rewritten his list of names and struck a black line through "Pinako". That settled that then. 

"If Winry isn't here by lunch, she's probably not coming at all" Ed commented and Mustang hummed in agreement while flicking back to the start of the book. Some of the pages appeared to have been ripped out at the start. Ed couldn't bring himself to care about what the book had been used for before Mustang had gotten his hands on it. Nothing important, probably. 

"That leaves Hoenheim" Mustang replied, gaze not lifting from the book he'd reappropriated. A book which belonged to the bastard he'd just mentioned. Ballsy. 

"You mean... dad?" Al asked in a small voice, finished with his breakfast. A sour feeling tugged at Ed's innards when he saw the sparkle of hope in his little brother's eyes. He held back a grimace.

"Yeah, he might come back, dunno yet" Ed answered, carefully removing any telling emotions from his words. At Al's apparent excitement at the prospect of their father returning, Ed continued "Don't get your hopes up, we don't know"

"He always seems to make it" Mustang added, rather unhelpfully, pausing to close his book. "Eventually"

"Annoyingly you mean" Ed scoffed as he slipped from his chair and started collecting the dishes, scowling at Mustang's barely concealed amusement when he had to tiptoe to make sure he was putting them into the sink safely.

As much as he hated it, what Mustang said was true. Hoenheim always came back in the same way that Father never did. Thank Truth for that at least.


	2. Lead is Gold and Gold is Lead (Role Swap AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Roy is fifteen, he learns something terrible, burns down the house of his dearest friend and does much the same to her back. 
> 
> Mere days later, the Fullmetal Alchemist arrives and, in what could be considered a fit of distasteful nostalgia, takes him under his wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by: [ this fic ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11485776). This concept is not a new one but each author's addition is unfailingly different. 
> 
> Relationship: None ~~maybe some background edling but that's kind of a given with me~~  
>  Tags: role swap, age swap  
> Characters: Edward Elric, Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye, the Hughes, Madame Christmas
> 
> Concept:  
> Roy does not attempt human transmutation, but his beginnings are eerily similar to Edwards. Ed's backstory is mostly the same up until the advent of the homunculi. He committed the ultimate taboo, joined the military at twelve and took part in the Ishballen war. The overarching plot of FMA will remain intact but this change of characters will greatly impact how Father's plan plays out. 
> 
> \----
> 
> Canon is a bit touch and go.

“You don't have to do this, Ed.”

“No,” a pause, “but I want to.”

“Really?”

A longer pause, “it's the right thing to do.”

* * *

It's on a day of contemplation that he returns to the remains of the house, eyes still stinging just a little and soot holding strong to his hair despite the long shower. More importantly, its the day that he first meets the Colonel.

Among the blackened wood beams and charred ground, the man in red and gold feels like an echo of flames that had not too long since gone out. He's amidst it all, the wind kicking up flecks of black that dance around his feet and legs but never seem to touch. He's short and one of the more intact beams comes up to his elbow where its propped on crumbling bricks and foundation. But it doesn't detract from the image that he paints, stood motionless among the rubble.

Roy is only allowed a minute or so to observe, his body urging him to shiver in the cold while he too remains still like the man, locked in tandem, before the other's head turns and he looks him in the eyes. Then, he shivers. But he doesn't move away when the stranger walks over.

Up close, Roy can see that the man isn't so much of a roaring fire as he is kindling, low burning with a soft, fragile glow. His eyes are duller in colour than his hair which is swept back in a neat high ponytail and his face is lined with tiredness. “Roy Mustang?” He asks and it takes a second for Roy to process the words. When he does, his stomach drops.

“Uh,” he clears his throat, tries again, “Ah,” and again, “Sorry, I think you've mistaken me for someone else,” until he gets it right. The man smirks and Roy knows he saw right through him.

“Yeah, and I'm the Fuhrer,” the man jokes and pats Roy jovially on the shoulder with a gloved hand which has Roy bowing a little under the unexpected weight. “Come on, show me your favourite place to eat and I'll pay.”

Over dinner, Roy learns that the man is the Colonel, a state alchemist by the name of Fullmetal which does ring a bell. By whatever means, he already knows the gist of Roy's story. Knows that he burnt the Hawkeye manor to destroy the evil that had been born within. Roy shows him his gloves and confirms that, while maybe 'child prodigy' isn't quite what he would call himself – he's fifteen, not a child, and this knowledge _cost_ him to learn - there is truth to the rumours that had led the Colonel out and away from his office. Although, the man does note, he doesn't seem to spend as much time within his office as someone of his title probably should. “Whatever,” he says, “I get the paperwork done, doesn't matter what I use for a desk while doing it.”

Later, Roy will realise the idiocy in following a strange man without knowing the next thing about him. Stranger danger and other such cautions. However, by the time that thought crosses his mind, he's sleeping on a full stomach in his bed at home with the sounds of Riza snoring lightly coming from the next room and Madame Christmas pottering about downstairs.

Nothing bad has happened, even though a man he just met pried what should be Roy's deepest secret from his mouth like it held no weight at all. Although it must have weighed something, the fresh burden he shoulders feels lighter now.

When he returns to the site again the next morning, lead by the whims of contemplation once more, he finds that the grass is growing lush and the soil is healthy. No ashes to be seen.

Evening comes soon enough and he ends that day with the offer of an all-expenses-paid trip to Central provided that he takes the state alchemist entrance exam. Riza gets to come too.

“It's too good to be true,” Madame Christmas says, “but that seems to be the way it is with the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

* * *

If Roy looked up the definition of 'perfect father' in the dictionary, he's fairly certain he'd find a polaroid of Maes Hughes and his daughter tucked between the pages. His heart is so big that he's got more than enough love to spare and happily takes Roy and Riza off of the Colonel's hands the minute they arrive in Central.

Roy would have accused him of slacking or not taking responsibility or something to that effect had it not been for the fact that the Colonel stayed for dinner and demanded that he do the dishes. Good thing too, the man eats as though his stomach is a vacuum and leaving that many dishes for the Hughes' to wash would have just been rude. Considering the veritable vat of soup Mrs Hughes had produced and the lacklustre protests about him being a 'guest', the Colonel seems to dine at the Hughes' often enough for this to become a ritual. And that wasn't even mentioning the way their daughter practically hung off of him and called him “uncle”.

Roy doesn't blame him, Gracia's soup is simply divine and he makes sure to tell her as such. He needs to be in their good graces lest they decide to kick Riza and him out for whatever reason. He doesn't quite trust this happy family set up, expecting for it all to devolve once the Colonel leaves. It doesn't, but maybe they're gunning for the long game, he can't know just yet.

He doesn't voice these concerns to Riza. Yet she assuages them anyway whiles he's redressing the burns on her back. Forcing himself to look at the damage, Roy doesn't feel like arguing when she says that not every parent takes after Berthold or the sleazy dads that visit Madame Christmas'. Apparently, there's good in the world too.

Yeah, Roy thinks as he tapes the bandage so that it won't shift, there's good. It's just that the good stuff tends to get burnt up by the bad. Just like Riza.

* * *

In a rather unfortunate series of events, the library begrudgingly becomes Roy's second home. God forbid the day someone assumes that Roy isn't as enthusiastic about his craft as the next alchemist, but the content on the theory test just isn't interesting. The colonel gives him a list of areas to revise and brush up upon (“I know a well-read alchemist when I see one”) and his scrawled “LEAD TO GOLD” is underlined three times to indicate that a large portion will be on that topic. There's a footnote at the bottom that is nigh illegible because it's both small and in the Colonel's terrible handwriting that notes that there's a heavy emphasis on the legality of alchemy. Hence the lead to gold in capitalised chicken scratch.

Riza takes an interest too, in the law side of things. Alchemy isn't something Roy can imagine she will ever delve in, especially given the mess on her back. ~~My fault~~. When he asks why she gives him something equally terrifying as it is admirable that involves subjects like “loopholes” and “manipulation”. Hypotheticals, of course, although she doesn't say so herself.

The colonel seems to be quite content to let them do as they please. He meets them in the morning, has a quick chat with the Hughes', asks them what they plan on doing for the day, throws a bit of cash at Roy and Riza and pisses off to do whatever it is colonels do. Paperwork, probably. Or gallivanting around the country searching for kids to sponsor on military programmes to boost his rep or whatever. He's not sure. Neither option seems to coincide evenly enough with the Colonel and the image he presents. So he sends a letter to Madame Christmas.

Madame Christmas gets him a reply faster than the public mail service are able and he doesn't question how. She says that there are many sides to people, events, arguments, you name it. But, before you take your own side, consider as many, if not all, other possible perspectives first.

Which is why he asks Mr Hughes over dinner, “what do you think of the Colonel?”

To which Mr Hughes pauses, frowns consideringly and says, “well, that's a big question, there are lots of things that I think of the Colonel.”

“What would you say if you had to describe him to a stranger?” Riza picks up for him, seamlessly. Good call.

“Hmmm,” Mr Hughes puts a hand to his chin as he thinks. “Well, I suppose I'd tell a stranger that he's a good man with a lot on his plate.” He seems quite serious, but then a smile breaks across his face and the illusion is broken. “Both figuratively and literally.”

Mrs Hughes laughs while telling her husband not to speak ill of guests behind their backs and Elisia enthusiastically joins in on the lecturing. Away from this picture-perfect family, in their own little bubble of fragments, Roy looks to Riza and finds that her eyes appear wistful as she watches the display before her. Roy can't help but feel something all too similar if a little tinged by bitter disbelief.

“What do you think of the Colonel?” Roy asks later, a little abruptly, sometime after they had gotten into bed. He knows Riza is awake because her breathing hasn't relaxed yet.

“I think I don't know him, yet,” Riza replies and Roy can't argue with that.

* * *

The entrance exam is a walk in the park, which is exactly what he takes after the theory portion. Occasionally waving at cheery passers-by, the Colonel walks beside him. He hadn't noticed before, but the man has an uneven gait that he knows he's going to have trouble un-noticing from here on out.

“You think you passed?” He asks in a tone that doesn't give the impression of a question somehow. Like he already knows the answer. Maybe he does.

“Why wouldn't I?” Roy replies and he knows he's being a little cheeky. But he's sick and tired of being overly polite – it's foreign to him. Sure, Madame Christmas may have drilled into him enough manners for him to be worthy of dining with the Fuhrer but he's _not_ dining with the Fuhrer so what's the point? The Colonel doesn't even wear his uniform when he can help it, he hardly demands respect.

Either totally unexpectedly or completely characteristically, Roy isn't sure yet, the Colonel chuckles, “eh, maybe you'll scrape by.”

“ _Scrape by-_ I'll have you know that I aced that test, legal jargon written and accounted for,” Roy says back with a huff. The more time he spends with the Colonel, the more he realises just how rude the man can be.

“Sure.”

Slowly, Roy is beginning to piece together his side of the Colonel with perhaps a little more bias than Madame Christmas intended for him. Little trickles of information, like the fact that he's an annoying jackass, start to piece together an image that doesn't quite meld so well with his first impression.

“You haven't even seen the paper, how could you possibly-” Roy begins to rebuke him but finds that he's being interrupted before he can even finish.

“Anyway,” the Colonel changes the subject, less smoothly than he probably intended, “I got you something.”

An indignant complaint is already halfway rolling off of his tongue, but he catches himself, curious to see what the Colonel could possibly want to give him other than lunch money. Instead, a different complaint leaves his mouth, running with the same energy. “I'm not a charity case, you know.”

“Whatever, just take these,” the Colonel dismisses with a sour face and all but throws a dainty wooden box at him. Roy has to scramble to avoid dropping the thing, but once it's settled in his palms, he flicks the silver latch and finds two pairs of pristine white gloves. They don't look too expensive, but they certainly don't look cheap.

“I can't have you wearing those ratty gardener looking things you scratched your circles on if you're gonna be my sponsor,” he explains, “You gotta have _some_ sense of style about you.”

Roy tears his eyes from the gloves and gives the Colonel a pointed once over. Outside of his official duties, the Colonel wears the same black shirt he has beneath the uniform, a red and black leather cloak with an insignia inscribed in gold that Roy intends on researching later, matching leather pants and a pair of combat boots with the thickest soles that Roy has ever seen.

With a pout, the Colonel says, “Kids these days have no appreciation for art,” as though the man himself wouldn't be kicked out of a gallery for looking shifty.

“You're just old,” Roy says back and the banter runs strong throughout the ten minute walk back to the Hughes' and only comes to a stop when Elisia all but jumps onto 'Uncle Ed' and he dissolves into a soft mess of a person that is completely at odds with the testy man from mere moments ago.

“What do you think of the Colonel?” Riza asks him later that night when the moon is high and they're both pretending to be asleep.

“I think he's weird and confusing,” he pauses, “but mostly he's annoying.”

* * *

During the demonstrative part of the exam, Roy makes an _impression_.

“You haven't brought any writing tools with you,” the Fuhrer observes. The colonel had told him that the Fuhrer generally doesn't oversee the exams but that he would probably be watching his. Lo and behold, here the man was, right in front of him at the centre of it all. He doesn't know why, the Colonel neglected to tell him the reason, but he knows that it's not necessarily a good thing judging by the tone the Colonel had used when he had informed him.

“I don't need any,” Roy says smugly and puts on a show. With a simple click of his fingers, the freshly drawn circles on his new gloves set alight to a circle of flames that surround him. He watches the military faces go from bored-neutral to shocked-amazed in orange hues. Yet the Fuhrer maintains his bland smile and the Colonel, where he's stood among the balcony crowd of royal blues, looks blank.

“Impressive,” Fuhrer Bradley muses and then proceeds to say something that throws Roy off base completely. “One could say that it's quite fitting that Fullmetal was the one to bring you in.”

Fuhrer Bradley turns his back to him and walks out before Roy can so much as ask why and that's the cue for everyone else to pack up and leave as well. Only when the Colonel slips down from the balcony in an overly dramatic fashion does Roy turn to leave himself.

“Do you work with fire?” He asks tentatively, praying that the answer is no, for the answer to not leave Riza's scars without meaning. Outside, the sunlight is too bright and the air feels sharp.

“Nah, not my thing,” the Colonel replies casually and Roy can breathe again. He gets distracted before he can ask further when they take a turn that Roy knows doesn't lead to the Hughes'.

“Is the dementia finally kicking in or did you deliberately take a wrong turn just now?” He asks with a fair measure of scepticism.

“We're going for a celebratory lunch, dipshit, 'cause I think you just passed,” the Colonel says, affronted. As it turns out, they are indeed only a corner away from the cafe he and Riza had been frequenting during their stay.

Lunch is nice but it's a little more sombre than he'd expect from something that's supposed to be 'celebratory'. Despite how much Roy usually sees him wolf down during meals, the Colonel only picks at a lone croissant. Whatever, the food is good and just because the Colonel is in a funk it doesn't mean that Roy can't enjoy a good jam tart.

A gleaming silver pocket watch thrown into his hands the next day names him a state alchemist, along with his new title.

“You're a dog of the military now, Flame, hope the collar doesn't itch too much”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk I have a lot of gripes about how this turned out (particularly the present tense(?), I don't personally like writing in it, but I accidentally fell into that hole somewhere around the beginning and now I can't climb out of it). But I love Role Reversals. It's my second fave trope after Time Travel (Time Loops, in particular, hold a special place in my heart, hence chapter one).
> 
> I wrote this in a fit of inspo and I'm going to write some stuff for Bury Me Low now.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment if any of these ideas pique your interest, I may just develop them into a fic :)


End file.
